


The Stranger's Room

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fingerfucking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe has a fantasy. Pete makes it happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stranger's Room

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the anonymity prompt on kink_bingo.

It could have been terrible. They knew of each other before they officially met; they ran in the same circles. Then they spent six months giving each other death glares across the room while everyone else was trying to scene. It made things awkward.

It was Pete who got over himself first, after seeing Gabe being a jackass in some club. Pete had a soft spot for jackasses. It took a few drinks, and then they both forgot whatever it was they'd hated about each other.

More than anything, it was circumstance that led Gabe to move in. Pete was newly divorced and needed to rent out the spare room; Gabe's lease was up and he needed a place to stay. There was the possibility that things could get weird, but once the ground rules were laid out (nothing esoteric left in plain view when the kid was visiting, keeping noise levels respectable, no looking down on anyone's personal preferences), it proceeded fairly smoothly.

Wednesdays were movie nights. This time around it was _Loverboy_ , which they could both pretend to only enjoy ironically. Patrick Dempsey was having a fit because Kirstie Alley wanted to leave the drapes open and the gardeners could see into the room.

"I don't know what he's getting so upset about," Gabe said.

"He's probably worried they'll tell her husband," Pete said.

"Dude, he's been running around fucking every married woman in town. It's kind of late to develop morals. If it were me I'd just suck it up and fuck the nice lady."

"That's just the exhibitionist in you," Pete said.

"I'm not an exhibitionist," Gabe protested. "Not really."

Pete gave him a sardonic look.

"I'm not."

"You show your dick at the drop of a zipper," Pete said.

"But I don't get off on that," Gabe said. "That's just letting everyone know it's there."

"Right."

"Hey, I keep my deepest darkest secrets under wraps. You don't even know half the shit I'm really into."

That was a mistake, because Pete looked interested. "Really?"

"Really," Gabe said, and tried to leave it at that.

It didn't work. "Why haven't you told me about it?"

"Well, I _don't know_ ," Gabe said, squirming. "It's, you know."

"Is it because you're embarrassed?"

"I don't know. Kind of."

"Is it piss?" Pete said. "Something to do with piss? Because that's totally fine. I've drunk piss on more than one occasion, and it's not really pleasant, but –"

Gabe groaned. "It is not drinking piss. It doesn't matter."

"It matters to _me_ , Gabe."

The truth was that Gabe had barely started to articulate it even to himself; it had started as a teenage jerkoff fantasy and then slowly morphed into something else. He thought for a minute. Pete looked expectantly at him.

"Sometimes I'm kind of into the idea of being everyone's sex toy," Gabe said.

Pete frowned, confused but still interested. "Like, a fantasy situation or -?"

"Not even that," Gabe said. "When I was fourteen I started thinking about how I'd go into this little room with just a bed, and I'd stick a blindfold on, and then everyone passing by would just kind of…use me."

"Dude, I don't know why you were embarrassed about that. Unless you think it doesn't fit your image."

"I don't give a fuck about my image. Just because I'm the big scary dom doesn't mean I have to be that all the time."

"So have you ever put it into play, or is it just a private thing?"

"I don't know," Gabe said. "It just seemed like something I stole from porn. It's the kind of thing that never really happens in real life."

"Really?"

"It's too complicated. Safety issues and shit. What are you gonna do."

"You think if safety wasn't an issue, you'd try to go through with it?"

"Dude, I've been whacking off to this since I was fourteen. No _duh_ I'd do it."

"Hm," Pete said.

"Why are you asking?"

"I don't know," Pete said. "I might know somebody."

"Oh, give me a break," Gabe said. "What, are you just going to pick up the phone and say, 'Hey, my friend wants to be blindfolded and fucked by any old passerby,' are you?"

Pete smirked at him. "Maybe."

"Oh," Gabe said. "Well, okay."

*****

Gabe had a habit of underestimating Pete, which he supposed he had to change. He always forgot that Pete knew absolutely everyone and they all were willing to do favors for him. If Gabe didn't know better, he'd think Pete was the Godfather of some kind of sexy Mafia.

Pete knew a woman, Henna. Gabe never knew whether she was a friend, an ex, or a friend with benefits. Pete described her as a kinky party planner. All Gabe knew was one afternoon Pete made a call, and after some initial pleasantries, Gabe found himself describing the details of his fantasy life to the cheerful Finnish accent on the other end of the phone.

"So this is something new for you, yes?"

"Not new," Gabe said. "I just haven't tried it out before."

"I see," Henna said. "We will then make it so it is enjoyable for everyone."

She had requirements for him and Pete: recent blood tests to show they weren't carrying anything, signed forms, lists of what was and wasn't permissible. Gabe was used to this. He'd had to negotiate about a hundred scenes in advance, just to make sure everyone could have fun.

The details went as follows: no rough stuff beyond a little hairpulling and biting in the heat of the moment, the blindfold stayed on, if he started to freak for any reason he could safeword out and Pete would stop the scene.

He felt good knowing Pete was going to be there. Not as a participant, he didn't think; Pete's tastes tended towards voyeurism in group scenes. Gabe just felt secure knowing that someone was going to be there to keep an eye on him and yank him out if the scene started going somewhere he couldn't handle.

From what he understood, he wasn't going to be the star attraction at the party. Henna had explained that she'd set some other scenes up with the rest of the group, who'd all jumped through the same hoops as he and Pete to ensure everyone's safety. Gabe was mildly curious what sorts of things would be happening while he was doing his thing, but he figured he'd be too busy to partake, so he didn't ask questions.

"Are you nervous?" Pete asked as Gabe was looking into his cereal bowl debating whether or not he could finish it.

"It's going to be great," Gabe said. "Do you know how it's set up? Are you going to be, like, standing outside the door or are you going to be right there? You've got to be right there, right?"

"Think of me like a bouncer," Pete said. "A bouncer for fucking."

The party was held in a perfectly ordinary brownstone, which Gabe had expected but couldn't help but be disappointed by. Just once he'd like to go to a party in some remote Bunny Ranch knockoff.

Henna greeted Pete in the foyer with cries of "Darling!" She made a grand show of kissing him on both cheeks, Euro-style, and Gabe found himself again wondering how Pete managed to get involved with a walking Luis Royo pinup.

After the preliminaries, she turned to Gabe and said, "This is your fantasy night, yes?"

"He's a little nervous," Pete said.

"Oh, fuck you, bro," Gabe said. "I'm fine."

Henna chose not to comment on this. "Your room is upstairs. Second door on the left."

As a matter of principle Gabe refused to speak to Pete the entire time they were walking to the room. On the door was a sign in fancy calligraphy – "The Stranger's Room."

Gabe's plan was to continue not speaking to Pete until this whole experience was over, but then they walked into the room and he got too excited to remember what he was mad about.

The room was bare except for the wrought iron four-poster in the center of the room, a hard-backed chair, and a bedside table. The table was empty except for an assortment of condoms and ready-made dental dams as well as what looked like an industrial container of lube, which gave the room a reassuring gloss of sleaze. Gabe was so entranced at first that he didn't even see the blindfold.

It was more like the sleep mask he used sometimes than an actual blindfold; his original thought was that he would just tie a silk scarf around his eyes and be done with it, but probably this was more secure. Gabe took his shoes and socks off and hopped onto the bed.

"Clothes on or off?" Pete asked.

He had to think about it. There was something to be said for being completely bareass and open for anything, but sometimes he liked the experience of peeling off every piece of clothing, unwrapping it like a gift. He compromised by unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and taking his belt off, unzipping his pants.

"Those pants are so tight I don't know how anyone's going to get them off," Pete said.

Gabe shrugged. "Hey, let 'em work for it."

"So you know that if you get freaked out at any point, you can just safeword out and I'll tell everyone to leave," Pete said. "All up to you."

Gabe nodded. He took the mask and was about to put it on, but it felt wrong somehow; if this whole point was about him letting someone else take control, maybe he shouldn't start it off himself. "Yo. Pete, can you –"

"Right," Pete said and came over. He took the mask and slipped it over Gabe's face, frowning very seriously. The fabric settled snugly over his eyes; he tilted his head back and forth to see if it would come loose but it seemed snug enough. "Okay, showtime," Gabe said and laid down.

Nothing happened for a while. His impulse was to talk to Pete and ease the nerves, but he knew he needed to get into the headspace more, so he laid flat on the bed and tried various meditation techniques to try to rise above his body.

Finally he heard the door creak, but then nothing. Pete said, "Hey," and there was the scratch of the chair being pushed back. After a second he heard a low feminine murmur and Pete's reassuring tone. Pete said, "Come on in," and then there was the thud of Pete's sneakered feet and the clicking of high heels across the floor.

He felt himself being watched. He wanted to say something, to figure out what was expected of him in this situation, but that went against the whole point of why he was here, so he just lay there trying to look accommodating.

"So what are the rules?" The voice was soft and feminine.

"Just don't smack him around. Anything else goes, though," Pete said.

"Really?" Gabe felt a gentle fingertip on his collarbone. His skin prickled with anticipation.

"He likes that," Pete said conversationally.

"Hmm," she said and traced down Gabe's chest with her nails. Gabe shivered and made approving noises low in his throat.

"I'll leave you two to it," Pete said, and thudded away somewhere.

Gabe didn't quite know what her intentions were. She ran her fingers over what seemed like every inch of his skin, massaging his shoulders, tickling his abdomen. He knew she wasn't trying to turn him on, just testing him out, making a cool assessment of his body. When he was starting to squirm and groan, she abruptly withdrew her hand. He made a questioning noise.

"My turn," she said and grabbed his hand. He felt what was maybe the inside of her thighs, the hem of what was maybe a skirt or a dress. Then she closed her legs around his hand and his palm was flush against her pussy. His fingers were slicked with moisture. She said, in the same soft tone, "Get me off."

He wasn't going to question her. She parted her legs. He ran his fingers up and down her slit, slowly, just to be sure where he was. He wasn't even going to try to get inside her yet, not until he was sure he was doing a good job.

He stopped touching her slit and moved his fingers in circles around her pussy, slowly. She was shaved; he could feel the hairs' prickly growth over thin skin. Only when he heard her sigh did he part her lips with two fingers and brush them over her clit, careful not to press too hard.

"Enough," she said, and her voice was still soft but there was a thickness behind it. She pushed his hand away. He heard her squirting lube against something, a wrapper tearing, and then before he knew it he felt her on top of him, high heels pressing against his side. He could smell her heat mixed in with something sweetly chemical.

"You're going to eat my pussy," she said.

" _Now_ you're talking," Gabe started to say, but then she shifted her weight and his words got muffled somewhere against her inner thigh. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten to eat pussy, and he liked the feeling of the dental dam on his tongue, thin and gently giving. He traced over it with his tongue, making figure eights as best he could. He was almost positive he could feel her clit hardening behind the latex, a tiny nub pressing into the tip of his tongue.

The band holding the mask on was rubbing against his ear. For a minute he was afraid it would slip off, but then she moaned and her legs contracted around him, and he felt her shudder into the orgasm. She pushed his face away and said, "I'm done with you."

After she got off him he was afraid there was going to be another lull and he was going to lose his mindset, but luckily after she left, there was about a minute's pause and then he heard two guys talking over him in what he thought was Norwegian. Then there was the sound of a wrapper being torn open, and after a minute of shuffling, there was a hand on the back of his neck and the order, "Suck on this."

There were two of them, he thought, standing over his face, cocks hard, slick latex pressed into his cheek. He wasn't sure if he was meant to focus on one or the other, but they seemed to have forgotten about him, so he tried his best with both. He could taste the spermicide at the back of his throat, and it was making him gag.

He could hear them kissing above him, hard rough kissing, mixed with words he couldn't understand and not meant for him. He slid his hand up one shaft while he wrapped his lips around the other, trying not to taste any more of the spermicide.

He lost track after that. There were bodies and bodies, and he was soaked in sweat and lube. The mask was soaked with who knew what, and it was only staying on through sheer willpower. He was on his stomach, and someone had the tip of their pinky inside of him, hardly touching him, but he was so wound up that it only took a second for him to explode.

Someone laughed. He heard footsteps retreating, the door hinges squeaking. His thought was that he had absolutely no stamina left, he was done, and he only just managed to haul himself up and croak, "Red, fuckin'… _Red_!"

"I got it," Pete said from somewhere in the corner. Gabe felt soft fingers at his temples, pulling off the mask, and then Pete's blessedly familiar face came in focus.

"Nicely done, Saporta," Pete said. "I'll drive you home."

Gabe barely remembered the walk down the stairs, or the drive back to the apartment. He staggered through the door and immediately headed for the bathroom. He was in no shape to deal with a shower, but he managed to brush his teeth and splash some water under his arms before he went to his room.

He was too tired to even get under the covers. He was on top of his bed, hoping it wouldn't get too cold that night, and then Pete knocked on the door and Gabe said, "Ungh."

"I'll take that as a yes," Pete said and came in. "C'mon. I'll tuck you in."

"Mmph," Gabe said.

Pete pulled the covers up over him. "So, decent fantasy night?"

"Uh-huh," Gabe said, and wiggled his toes in the blessedly clean sheets. "I don't think I'll try it again unless I become a triathlete, though."

"Good plan." Pete leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. "See you in the morning."

Gabe started to say thanks but it got lost somewhere. The last thing he saw was Pete's back, switching off the light before gently closing the door.


End file.
